


Dead of Night

by Anonymous



Series: Time of Day [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Cardassian Anatomy, Consensual Somnophilia, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Humiliation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Medical Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, Sexting, Shame, Submissive Garak, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-21 04:46:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14277210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A continuation of Time of Day.Bashir spends a few weeks working overnight, compelling himself and Garak to find new ways to keep themselves entertained.





	1. Work

Late in the afternoon, Garak and Bashir met for their lunch.  Bashir had slept for a good deal of the morning - Garak resisted the urge to feign cluelessness and pester him, because he looked so serene in their bed - as this was his one free day to recuperate between switching shifts.  Being the CMO, he was required to head the Infirmary at all possible hours, spread out over several months, apart from times he was called in for emergencies. This would begin a two week period of overnight shifts, twelve hours each.  It was best that Garak let him sleep.

Bashir covered his mouth when he yawned, gesturing for Garak to set his plate out in front of him.  They ate in the privacy of their cabin, with the lights dim and the climate controls humid and warm.  Even though their windows faced empty space, Garak had drawn the curtains shut, and arranged their table with a similar palette of colors, to make Bashir as comfortable as possible.

Garak pulled his dining chair onto Bashir’s side of the table, across from the window, and sat close beside him, enough for their legs to brush.  Then he sorted through his line of utensils, and reached to slice through the stack of steamed vegetables on Bashir’s plate, humbly offering him a bite.

“Are you permitted to bring along any reading material?” Garak asked; Bashir’s expression was a gloomy one.

“I do _make_ the permissions,” Bashir said, bringing himself to smirk.  “And I have some case studies to finish up, now that you mention.  I didn’t have time, last week, to finish inputting patient samples…”

“That does not sound any less dull.”

“I enjoy a chance to study,” Bashir said, genuinely.  “And it should be fairly quiet, if there are no emergencies.  The Gamma and Delta Shifts are half the size of the daily complement.  I believe I’ve… one routine appointment, tonight. Eight all week.”

“Dull,” Garak echoed himself, and dropped the fork and knife in favor of using his fingers.  

He tore off a piece of the naan, one of the few Terran foods Bashir regularly enjoyed, and set it carefully between Bashir’s lips.  The act was one they shared frequently, tenderly, and it always served to mesmerize both of them to an equal state. Garak would watch Bashir chew and swallow, observing the graceful movements of his mouth and throat, and Bashir would sit back and feel both cherished and powerful, appreciative of how delicate Garak could be, when he wanted to.

“Even when I was a student,” Garak continued, leaning back to watch Bashir swallow, “I was prone to distraction.  Would you believe that?”

“When you say ‘distraction,’ you mean it in a sentimental way, don’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose so.  It was borderline criminal.”

“I thought _all_ sentiment among Cardassians was criminal.”

Garak smiled and tore off another strip of the flatbread.

“An astute observation, my dear.  I may have misspoken; I meant ‘sexual’ more than ‘sentimental.’”

Bashir was going to remark about how he was _eating_ , and had no real desire to discuss this, but it would have been a lie in all possible regards.  His stomach was not bothered by anything, anymore, and it was rare for Garak to divulge any details about his past.  Perhaps it was untrue, or some political allegory, or a story meant to keep Bashir amused, but he did not mind. He had time enough to listen, and an alarm set to alert him of his shift, so he reclined in his seat and waited.

“You’re going to have to explain,” he said expectantly, in a commanding tone both of them enjoyed.

“Oh, I suffered a great deal of distraction during my third year of Training,” Garak said.  “That is when I was prescribed my limiting devices, but they had no effect on me whatsoever.”

“What devices, Elim?”

“I believe you call them ‘ _toys_ ,’ my dear.”

This time, Bashir did pause from his meal, holding up his hand so Garak would not give him any more.  Instead, Garak turned his hand and brought the strip of naan to his own mouth, chewing it slowly and thoughtfully.

“Right, yes,” Bashir worked himself through the puzzle, “I understand why you’d call them ‘limiting devices,’ but why on earth were they _prescribed_ to you?”

“Because I was not on earth, my dear.  I was on Cardassia - a _dreadful_ student at the bottom of my class - and I showed no promising interest in having a military career _or_ a family.”

“So… you were given _sex toys_?”

“I was given limiting devices.  Others were given prescriptions for conception aids, but I was deemed an incurable cause, in that regard.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I was twenty-one years of age, and expected to contribute to society one way or another.  Have you noticed that our greatest motivators, as a culture, come from nationalism or shame?”

“Yes,” Bashir said.  “I have _definitely_ noticed that.”

Garak sighed and nestled into Bashir’s arm.  

“Oh, you mean--” Bashir tried to sound apologetic, “you were ashamed of that?”

“Initially, yes.  And then I used them, and _enjoyed them_ , and felt even worse.  That cycle continued for years.”

“Elim, why are you… suddenly sharing this with me?”

“Because I do not feel ashamed when I am with you.  Not _truly_.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Bashir said, trying to lighten the mood.  “More than a year together, and you’re only ashamed on the rare chance I _want_ you to be.”

“Precisely,” said Garak.

Bashir hooked his arm around Garak’s shoulder and drew him in closer, tucking Garak’s temple against his cheek.

“It’s odd you bring that up, though,” Bashir continued, trying to figure out whether it was coincidence or not, “because I was looking into getting us something new to try together, after I’m done with these shifts.  When I’m _yours_ for the nights, again.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Garak said.  

Quirking his brow and sighing fondly, Bashir held Garak tighter, stopping just before he knew Garak would become uncomfortable.  Actions like this were as close to formal punishment and repentance as their relationship dynamic would allow.

“I didn’t know the two Cardassian ones you had were to humiliate you, though,” Bashir continued, offhand.  “You could’ve said something sooner, before I forced you to use them.”

“There’s no need to apologize.  As I said, I _enjoy_ them.”

“Hmm, well… still.  I’ll order us something nice, and no one else will know about it or give you a hard time over it, and it’ll be _just for fun_.”

Garak squirmed, loosening Bashir’s arm, and reached toward their plates again, making a quiet remark about Bashir’s tendency to rush through his meals.

“When does your shift begin?” Garak asked, in conclusion.

“About twenty minutes.   _Here_ , darling,” Bashir said softly, touching the corner of Garak’s mouth with his napkin, then wetting it in his teacup and repeating the motion. “Would you like to pick something out with me?”

Now, Bashir collected the entire teacup and pressed it to Garak’s lower lip, holding back until he received his answer, promising the tea as reward and reinforcement.  They had come a long way in the preceding year, in getting to know one another, in balancing strengths and weaknesses, in becoming collectively and objectively _better_.  Garak sat back, uncrossing his legs but then promptly folding his hands instead, setting them down on the table and waiting patiently for his tea.

“I hardly think that would be proper,” Garak said, and he closed his eyes in preparation of the steam that would hit them, if Bashir followed through.

Bashir tipped the cup forward for a much shorter time than usual, leaving Garak to suck in air and splutter around his breath, leaving enough proof that something was… off.  That Garak was digging for something, which Bashir would not tolerate.

“Why not?” Bashir asked, simply.

“I shouldn’t be… permitted…” Garak’s voice trailed into nothing, and he swallowed.

“ _Talk to me, Elim_ ,” Bashir whispered.

His breath was hot, stinging against Garak’s aural ridge, creeping up between lines of ridging and pressing faintly to the receptor inside.  Garak shivered despite himself, and locked his eyes to Bashir’s. How nice it was, to be prodded and protected by the same steadfast man.

“If I were on Cardassia… oh, it’s no matter,” Garak decided.  “I don’t have access to the proper channels, anymore, and…”

“Talk to me _clearly_.  Or are you _ashamed_?”

When Garak’s answer was not immediately forthcoming, Bashir nudged him off - as Garak spread his legs, one knee had crept up into Bashir’s lap - and stood up, continuing to stare at him from across the table, and his full height.

Garak pursed his lips, feigning disbelief for his own consolation rather than Bashir’s, and gathered his words.

“I am not,” he said, first.  “But I wouldn’t… know where to begin…”

Bashir gave passing thoughts to Garak’s existing collection.  Beyond the two Cardassian pieces intended for sexual acts, one was a comforting travel device, and the rest were decidedly foreign.  He knew the whip came from a temporary worker’s arsenal, and they had recently disposed of it altogether. The rest, if they had not been obtained in similar situations, could have easily been replicated.  Bashir grinned to himself, and offered Garak a short, tempting rub of one shoulder.

“And I might be better _qualified_ , is that it?”

“One might say…”

“One _will_ say, Elim,” Bashir nudged, reaching for his chin, but only touching it gently.

Garak stood, being drawn up by the magnetism he felt to Bashir, and met his eyes with ease.

“I require a prescription, Doctor,” Garak said, with palpable satisfaction.

“Yes.  It seems you do.”

Bashir considered his options.  While, for the most part, he disliked crossing his professional life with his intimate one, he had arguably surrendered any semblance of a _personal_ life by taking his post on the station; as he became friends with his patients, deeper connections became almost inevitable.  This felt somewhat different, anyway, because he would be playing out a _Cardassian_ act, one he hoped would absolve Garak of shame, and bring the two of them closer through these vulnerabilities.  It came down to _caretaking_ , in the end, which Bashir enjoyed unapologetically.  Involvement of the Infirmary or any other officer would not be necessary; all he needed was a replicator.  He was going to make sure Garak got the prescription he needed.

“Wait for me.  Right. _Here_ ,” Bashir said, emphasizing his words with fluttering strokes of Garak’s chin; Garak loved being touched there.

Wide-eyed, Garak watched as Bashir turned and departed, depositing his plate in the replicator to be reclaimed.  Then he took over control with his own authorization code - Garak had modified his cabin computers to accept Bashir’s voice and touch commands - and began to type, shielding the screen by standing in front of it.

By the time his alarm rang, signalling the time to leave for work, Bashir had composed a long list of instructions to feed the replicator, written out in the code one would find from engineering the things in the first place.  Garak could follow along well enough, asking for specific materials and dimensions, until being presented with the finished piece, which Bashir had briefly checked the appearance of in a simulation. Now, the screen was dark, and he handed Garak a padd of the coding, with his name signed in a messy scrawl at the bottom, written with one fingertip as he turned to face Garak again.

He set the padd into Garak’s hands, still and awaiting instruction, and looked at his face.  Garak’s lips were still pursed, but now in a more overtly sensuous way, willing to hang on to every word Bashir gave him.

“Don’t hesitate to contact your physician with any questions or concerns, any time of day or night,” Bashir recited, in an effortlessly professional tone that made Garak shiver.

“Oh, I won’t,” Garak replied.  “I won’t hesitate at _all_.”

***

And _damn_ that man, Bashir thought when he settled down in his office, because Garak had been entirely truthful.

He was unpacking some samples from his kit to process, and when he turned and fell into his seat with a despondent sigh, clutching a mug of raktajino to his chest, his computer terminal received a message.  More specifically, it had received an image.

Before setting down his drink, he took a precautionary swig of it, and opened the new file with one hand cupped over the top of the terminal, just in case.  His instincts served him well, as he was faced with an image of the _toy_ , sitting idle on the replication bay, catching and refracting the overhead light nicely.  It was semi-transparent, stiff but smooth, malleable under the correct conditions, and both wider and longer than any Garak had used before.  The sides were veined and flared and reinforced with steel, adding a component of weight Garak would enjoy in specific positions. It was neither human nor Cardassian, but something designed to blend the two in color, shape, texture.  And above all…

 _That should have taken you half an hour at least_ \- Bashir wrote and replied.

***

Garak grinned back and forth at the message and the toy in front of him.  What was meant to take thirty minutes to complete had taken him just under thirteen.  The ordering process was simple, and he read through the design parameters carefully, coyly, stopping at the end.

He was practically drooling at the combination Bashir had devised for him: the breathtaking toy and borderline unprofessional _prescription_ itself, the dim lighting and warm cabin and cushions that still carried Bashir’s scent strongly, the bellyful of hot tea and prickling anticipation, the teasing reply to a _perfectly_ innocent image.

“Now, this part here,” Garak dictated his response to the computer for transposition, and glossed his finger over the line of text in question, “‘for use in alleviating disorienting bouts of loneliness.’  That _sounds_ quite practical, but I do still seem to be alone, _Julian..._ ”

He forwarded the transcript, leaving the channel open, expecting a reply _very_ soon, and gathered the toy from the bay.  Then, he went and sat on their sofa, littered with cushions and thin blankets, arranging and rearranging until his compulsion to do so was satisfied, and he could sit in the center comfortably, bordered by a generous wall of soft padding.  After a moment of waiting happily but impatiently, the computer chirped back at him.

“ _Your prescription can be applied--_ ” began the automated voice, which Garak frowned at.

“Computer, in the original dictation, please.”

“This is a typed message from Doctor Julian Bashir, CMO,” the computer said.

“Of course it is,” Garak sighed, resolving to get Bashir to _speak_ later in the exercise.  “Go on, then."

“Your prescription can be applied, _Elim_ ,” the computer continued, only varying its tone slightly, enough to sting, “after you’ve _followed the instructions_ carefully, and gotten approval from your physician to begin--”

Garak scoffed at the sight of the toy, which appeared to be quite complete.  

“--scheduled usage.  You’ll find a thin channel for the insertion of a tube, beneath the glans--”

At least Garak could discern, now, why Bashir had typed this message out and not dictated.  He quieted himself, picked up the toy with nervous fingers, and turned it over to find the spot Bashir was describing.

“--you can get the tube from the basic medical inventory settings on your replicator, designation 100-65.  If you route this through the uppermost urethra, and puncture holes to accommodate the lower two--”

Garak rolled his eyes.

“Computer, cease voiceover.  I’ll read it myself.”

Grumbling, Garak moved from the little nest he had made of cushions, and consulted the replicator for the thin tubing Bashir prescribed.  He read from the computer screen, and completed the list of required implements: a thin scalpel for creating the holes, tweezers for aligning the tube, an empty syringe, a timing mechanism for releasing the injection, and a flavored lubricant.  Garak collected these in his arms, huffed, and sat down again, bringing along a padd to read from. He shed his tunic and undershirt quickly and unceremoniously, then paused.

He felt like he was conducting a science experiment, or perhaps like one was being conducted on him.  In that case, Bashir would be having fun at the same time.

Of _course_ Bashir had devised this plan perfectly in less than twenty minutes; Garak thought this both fondly and with a small degree of irritation.  Maybe it would manage to keep them both occupied for the whole of Bashir’s shift, but Garak doubted it. Now that he had all of the components, and a list of steps to combine them into something functional, he trusted himself to balance his sense of perfectionism with deeply suppressed arousal.  The work would be finished as soon as Garak wanted - _needed_ \- it to be, and he would get his Doctor’s approval soon after.

Testing the tightness of the tubing, filling the syringe directly from the pot of lubricant, and then swirling two fingers through it for himself, Garak leaned in low over the finished contraption.  If it was some kind of test Bashir wanted to verify the passing of, Garak would give him exactly what he wanted.

Snickering to himself, he removed his belt and shrugged down his trousers, granting Bashir an obscured but still _obvious_ view of his slit in the back of the image, swelling and purpling with each objective he completed from the list.

***

At the Infirmary, Bashir received the picture and clapped both hands desperately over the screen before closing the file, rolling his eyes, and opening it on his personal padd instead.  This, he balanced on one knee as he slid forward on his chair, cramming both legs into the alcove beneath his desk. He tried to peer at it discreetly, biting his lip because _of course_ Garak would do this to him, why hadn’t he expected it in the first place?

His motivation was rooted equally in _payback_ and _attraction_ and an indescribable sense of ‘ _damn that man_.’  He dictated to his computer this time, hoping he could produce the same result in his partner, over the distance.

***

“Incoming transmission,” Garak’s computer said to him.

“Fine, go on,” Garak said.

In the intervening moments, he had worked his two lubricated fingers into his slit, up to the knuckle.  He was familiar enough with his own anatomy, _for shame_ , and was willing to quicken a few of Bashir’s instructions.  They were so _precise_ about widths and lengths and durations.  Garak enjoyed this on a level of purely logical engagement, but he was aching to be filled with pleasure and emptied of lifetimes of embarrassment.  It was difficult to keep these impressions balanced, and as badly as Garak wanted to please his partner by following directions, the truth was, he was _all alone_.  He reasoned with himself about which corners to cut, and the suggested preparation time was one of them.  Bashir was clever, but capable of being just as impatient; Garak shrugged and continued to finger himself, stopping when he heard Bashir’s voice in place of the computerized one.  His breath caught in his throat.

“Cloacal swelling of this variety is treatable,” Bashir recited coolly.  “If the salve does not alleviate this, you might wish to schedule an appointment.  My next opening is in two hours’ time…”

“Two _hours_?” Garak groaned, scooping up more of the lubricant and working inside in a spiraling motion, doing as Bashir suggested.  

He resigned himself to playing this out slowly, thinking how strange it was that he and Bashir were complementary in this way.  Bashir was notably less patient, under normal circumstances, but _never_ rushed their intimacy.  Garak, meanwhile, was known to sit and spend entire days observing the same objects in obsessive detail, if it would help him complete a mission, but in sexual situations, desperation often got the better of him.  So, he leaned back on one of his cushions and imagined Bashir was with him, hunched over him, giggling into the arch of his neck and kissing at his scales, and spreading his fingers apart in time with Garak’s whines.  He slowed himself down and dipped his fingers repeatedly into the jar of lube, to keep them warm and soft, almost mammalian. He sighed, because Bashir was _so_ good at what he did, all of it, and justifiable self-confidence was typically seen as an attractive trait amongst Cardassians.  All of the contradictions made his throat tighten and his breaths hasten. He could not resist exhaling on a moan, the next time he shoved his fingers inside himself, catching his nails and flared knuckle-scales on the sensitive lining, wincing and gasping and _moaning_ again.

As he did this, he stared down at the toy and its attachments, sitting between his legs, precisely where he had left it.  He imagined the shape of it, the weight, the thickness, how nice and almost _familiar_ it would feel when he finally began to use it.

Using his padd, he sent along another image, careful to ensure Bashir was the only recipient.  With his voice hoarse and breathy, already, he attached a dictation.

“Does this earn your professional approval?” he asked.

The swelling of his seam-scales had indeed lessened with application of the salve, and he had managed to widen his entrance enough - he expected - for the head of the toy.  But he forced himself to be patient and wait for Bashir’s command, even if he did tease and solicit it in the first place. Their dynamic had never been a traditional one; why start now?

He was met by a typed message, a few minutes later.  Shushing the computer and withdrawing his fingers, he read it silently to himself.

_It does.  But I have an appointment coming up, and I’d rather not conduct it with an erection._

_Can you keep yourself occupied for an hour or so?  Without interrupting me, unless it’s an_ **_emergency_** _?  I have work to do._

Garak’s ridges pricked at that, utterly and shamelessly delighted, and then proceeded to flush as he leaned back on his cushion again.  The thought of volunteering himself, of following orders impeccably, and of drawing an inconvenient physical response out of his partner despite the distance thrilled him.  Humans were so haphazardly designed.

He felt, just as he favored, both safely controlled and in command of his own faculties.  On this self-imposed high, his own genuine production of endorphins, he picked up the toy and pressed it to his seam until it widened sufficiently for admission.  The scales, now deeply thistle-toned, rippled around the shaft as Garak slid it into place, breath short and hand steady.

He had to stop, less than a third of the way upward, where the toy came to a sudden flare of vein, which poked _precisely_ against Garak’s sheath-ridge.  It was agonizing to go any further without everting.  Garak mumbled out a message, but did not send it.

“I’m sorry, have you memorized _every detail_ of my intimate anatomy?  Of course you have! Every millimeter, hmm?”

Controlling his breathing more carefully - he had learned not to hold it altogether - he tried to proceed, pressing hesitantly against the inner ridging, feeling the swell of it and testing its resistance.  He would need to evert if he wanted to go any further. With a disbelieving roll of his eyes and an entirely fond curse of Bashir’s name, he swapped the toy for his lubricated fingers, widening himself further, and stroking the penile ridge until he was stimulated into everting on his own.  He looked down at the sight, thoroughly unimpressed until his mind helpfully suggested he consider this from Bashir’s perspective. A professional one or a personal one, it did not matter.

He ran his fingers curiously through the sticky puddle of fluid that had formed at the lowest point of his seam, forced outward by his eversion.  If Bashir were doing this, he would have gently kneaded the soft seam scales between the pads of his fingers, and then he would invariably bring them up to his mouth to taste.

So, Garak did exactly that.  He rubbed over his seam and then brought his hand slowly to his lips, taking in the scent with his tongue, letting it fully envelope his scenting gland before he even considered tasting it.  The flavor was sweet and floral, perhaps rosy? He recorded the sound of himself doing this, slotting his fingers between his lips and humming around them, laving with his tongue and moaning ‘ _Julian_ ’ as he pulled back again.  This would be sent later.

Now that his penis was out, stiffening gradually in the warm, humid air all around, there was enough room in his cloaca to try again.  He tried not to become too distracted with thoughts of Bashir - maybe that was the point of the exercise, he was not sure anymore - as he held himself open and slid the toy into place.  This time, he passed the ring of flared veins with relative ease; then he heard a ‘click’ emanate from beneath him, somewhere near his thigh and muffled by a pillow he had dislodged. The timing mechanism had been activated.  Oh, that clever man, Garak thought, and then promptly cut himself off by whimpering.

“Are you finished with this message?” the computer prompted, when he went quiet again.

“Yes, I am.  But _chaos_ , don’t send it until I say so.”

“Saved to drafts.”

“How _considerate_ ,” Garak said quietly.

He kicked his legs out further to each side, bending his knees and then releasing again, trying to find the most enjoyable position.  From what he could tell, Bashir’s prescription did not come with this particular suggestion. Considerate, indeed.

One thing was certain: he was not enjoying reaching over himself, pressing his forearm against the belly he was not-exactly-happy with, only to stroke along his seam with his too-long fingernails, and insert a very particular toy not-nearly-far-enough inside.  It was articulated in such a way that demanded to be _felt_ , staggered into thirds, separated by lines of veins and false scales, widening continuously until it reached the base.  At this point, the syringe and coiled tubing was stored, and the timing mechanism remained outside, ticking away quietly, to a pattern Garak did not know the conclusion of.

He decided to ally himself with gravity and look at his weight in a positive light; he removed the toy and held it still, straight, and lowered himself over it instead.  

“ _Ohhh_ ,” he exhaled, leaving himself breathless.

“Would you like to send your message?” said the computer.

“ _Stop that_.  If you want to do me any favors, play me something in the voice of Julian Bashir.  Don’t ask _what_.  I don’t _care_.”

Because this was their _home_ computer, it had easy access to Bashir’s daily log entries.  It played the most recent of these, and even though Garak was forced to listen through his recitation of thirteen different bacteria strains he had observed the controlled growth of that day, it may as well have been a romantic ballad.

He held the toy firmly in one hand, circled tightly around the base of it, and began to raise and lower his body over it in a more consistent pattern, breathing deeply and trying to keep quiet, for the computer’s sake.  There was still time to fill.

“C-computer,” he asked, pausing, inspired, “elapsed time since I received my last communique from _Doctor Bashir_?”

“Twenty-three minutes, fourteen seconds.”

“Thank you.”

Agony, Garak thought, as he strived to kiss the very base of the toy with the folds of his slit.  He could not recall a time he had been stretched in such a way, so each minute movement was felt with devastating clarity.  His slit was left gaping, dripping, and amazingly sensitive. Bashir was not present to do anything about it, but Garak still felt his involvement as if it were personal; in a way, it was, if he could ignore the temporary distance between them.

He decided to go back to imagining they were together, as Bashir’s recorded voice continued in the background, listing off varieties of microbe without a care in the world.  When they _were_ together, he was prone to list qualities he found admirable and attractive in Garak.  A feeling of slyness just barely won over shame, as Garak took this responsibility for himself.

“So… _mm_ , so attractive to you, for some State-forsaken reason,” he said, as some of the spare tubing brushed over his seam.  “ _M-Matched_ , somehow…”

“--a very good showing of--” Bashir’s voice echoed through the speaker.

Garak’s slit quivered around the toy, now, and he bit at his bottom lip as if this would lend the rest of his body some composure, any at all.

“But if you really loved me,” Garak said, through gritted teeth, “I suppose you would have given me something with a better range of _movement_.  Or perhaps you are saving that responsibility for yourself?  Oh, of all the _smug_ , irritating-- _ahh_ \--”

He cut himself off with an unexpected gasp; his legs had begun to wobble, and as his muscles tensed beyond their usual limit, he had fallen and impaled himself _deeply_ .  Maybe this would merit an _emergency_ , maybe not.

Still.

He called out to silence the computer, and took a video recording from his padd, which he had settled into the nest of coiled tubing and steadied against the side of his knee.  The images would arrive sideways, and Bashir could transpose them, but it would be simple enough to discern even before doing so. Garak wondered if he was about to get himself in trouble, as he sent it.  His inner lining ached and went numb.

***

In the Infirmary, the desk computer beeped, and Bashir sighed at it.

“Excuse me a moment, Ensign,” he said, shutting the scanner he was using and ducking out from the curtained partition he set up for private appointments.

Clutching the scanner tightly in his hand, preparing to take out at least several varieties of frustration at once, he opened the message he had been sent.  He lit up several buttons as he squeezed them, driving in his nails. The frustrations arrived all muddled together, betrayed and sexualized; he wondered if this was how Garak felt with his original _limiting devices_.

He could see clearly from the image - oh, a _video_ , he noticed when Garak moaned, panicking and lowering the volume - that Garak was taking the toy fully, by now.  Somehow, Garak had managed to abridge his suggested, _prescribed,_ timeline, which Bashir found… muddled-frustrating.  And impressive. He realized his mouth was open, and he licked his lip before closing it again, shielding the screen and shutting it off.  That was enough, for now; he had seen Garak pulsing around the base of the toy, dripping his own fluid and the lubricant in equal measure, wadding up blankets between his hands, and, last Bashir had heard, moaning his name.  That was _quite_ enough.  He typed a brief message, and pressed ‘send.’

_I gave you instructions for a reason, Elim.  The timing is very important._

“Sorry about that, Ensign,” he said, stepping through the curtain again, opening a panel on the protesting scanner.  “Nearly finished, now. Just another patient… they can wait.”

***

If Garak could have heard this, he would have vehemently disagreed.  He raised himself up again, on his knees, and tugged gently with one hand to dislodge the toy from inside himself.  The timer was still faintly clicking away; Garak could not see any problem with his impatient adaptations of Bashir’s precious _timing_.  The position was neither particularly fulfilling nor comfortable, and Garak did not find himself missing it.  He did miss the sensation of _fullness_ as he stood and paced around the sofa, wondering what to do next, but that was the extent of it.  His thighs were smeared with fluid, and this irritated him into sitting back down again.

When he studied the toy closely, he could discern the glans bobbing gently, echoing the motion of the tube as it responded to the back and forth _clicks_ of the timing mechanism.  Carefully, he touched the base of the syringe for himself, watching a small burst of air expel from the uppermost urethra, followed by a dribble of the lubricant.  He had a feeling Bashir would disapprove of this outcome, too; the presence of the air inside the tubing only further proved Garak had rushed.

Turning the syringe over, he tried to figure out how to disengage the timer.  If he could do this quickly enough, he could start the entire process over, and follow his orders more carefully, and still coincide with Bashir’s ideal timeline.  He ran estimations in his head while the timer went on clicking, making a bright sound as he cupped it in his hand and forced it to echo between his palm and the shell of his ear.  The toy was directly alongside his lips, now, and he compulsively licked them before gagging at the thought.

All on its own, the tubing pulsed again, then burbled, and fluid dribbled down from all three of the punctures at once.  Garak could watch the lubricant glistening as it ran down the sides, and if he squinted at the translucent surface, he could see the pipe within, hard at work.  There would not be time…

He laid himself down, ignoring the uncomfortable position brought on by the strewn cushions and crumpled blankets, and slid the toy inside once more.  With his hand wrapped around it tightly, holding all of the mechanical components in place, he used it to thrust inside himself, quickly, deeply, _torturously_.  He whimpered and felt ashamed, wondering why he disputed orders, if he was so irreversibly conditioned to regard these objects as humiliating, and nothing more.  Bashir had gone through the trouble of customizing something for him, trying to keep him occupied and satisfied during absences, and he had volunteered himself carelessly, and much too fast.

The timeline was originally designed to keep Garak busy until Bashir was granted his first meal break, one-third of the way through his shift.  He had planned to come home and see Garak during this time, praise him for doing well, and then explore the toy together until Bashir needed to return to the Infirmary.  But all of that hinged on Garak following the plan in the first place. Now, as Garak tried to console himself with the figures he was aware of, he realized Bashir’s intentions, and his whines turned from those of elation to those of heartbreak.

With the toy buried fully inside of Garak’s slit, the timing mechanism stalled and came to its conclusion, snapping the plunger into the syringe, and expelling the collected lubricant all at once.  It felt warm inside, and thick, and if Garak had not been felt so miserable, he could have easily tricked himself into believing this was Bashir inside him, instead. He left everything precisely as it was, letting his legs tremble fruitlessly on either side of the device, ramming it further into himself and wailing as fluid was forced out on either side.

“Computer,” he said quietly, waiting for the coupled _beep_ to signify recognition, “please inform Doctor Bashir of my sincerest apologies.  There is no emergency.”

***

Having finished his one scheduled appointment, Bashir turned to face his screen again, hoping to see at least several updates from Garak.  His frustrations had not entirely passed, but he had begun to enjoy the teasing tone of it; he felt the same as he did when he first met Garak, although now in slightly better control of himself.  The screen displayed a single message, of a more worrisome tone than Bashir envisioned. He checked his schedule again, then set down his padd and his tricorder and headed for the door. On his way out, he collected a medkit and checked in with one of his nurses, excusing himself on a house-call and promising to return and work through his lunch, still over an hour in advance.

The door to Garak’s quarters recognized him, and admitted him without verification or an emergency override, which Garak overheard Bashir giving anyway.  He remained where he was on the couch, vaguely aware of his surroundings and his intakings, giving staggered breaths and fluttering his fingers nervously over the tubes.

Bashir saw him right away, and rushed to his side, bending over him with a scanner, cupping his hand over Garak’s and slowly drawing the toy out of him.

“I should’ve prescribed you a set of handcuffs,” Bashir muttered, as he scanned the cloacal tissue for damage.  “Or… something smaller. I’m sorry. No, no, don’t try to get up, hang on--”

He fished through his kit for a dermal regenerator, and set to soothing the overexerted flesh, keeping his other hand steady on Garak’s thigh, willing them both to be patient.

“The fault, as you can see, is mine,” Garak said.

After shushing him, Bashir leaned in and kissed his thigh, where the muscles still trembled from their earlier ordeal, and rippled from the effects of the generator.  Then Bashir sighed sharply through his nose, warm breath tickling Garak’s thigh as he leaned closer and nuzzled the scales there.

“I was… planning to come see you at my lunch break, Elim,” Bashir explained, rubbing gently over Garak’s seam.  “It’s, well, I can’t _really_ fault you for being excited, but you need to be _careful_ , and you _should_ listen to me.”

“I should, I know.”

“If you’d built the thing in the time I expected, and been easy on yourself, I was lined up to come home and watch you orgasm.”

“Were you?” Garak mewled, miserably.  “I haven’t, you know. I felt awful.”

“I can see that, Elim.  Shh, it’s all right.”

His hand crept up from Garak’s thigh to his belly, clean aside from perspiration, glossing his scales and pooling at his _chuva_.  Reaching further to the side, he drew a line slowly over one of Garak’s ornate penile ridges, tickling and squeezing the scales gently between two fingers.

“The last thing I wanted to do was make you feel _more_ shame,” Bashir went on.  “I wanted to do something nice for you, something fun for both of us, I… maybe if I’d taken another few minutes to plan it out and explain it to you…”

“I have found myself historically incapable of leaving such devices alone.”

“Until I come to your rescue?” Bashir asked, having to assume Garak’s meaning, but doing so correctly.

“I appreciate it,” Garak said, reaching to copy the movements of Bashir’s hand, softly brushing his chuva, now.  “If you are not opposed, I can try again tomorrow, even though I’ve rather spoiled the surprise…”

“I’ve a few minutes, yet,” Bashir reassured him, and sat down beside him on the cushions.

Idly, Bashir continued to trace over scales and ridges, hovering between Garak’s _chuva_ and seam.  To indulge in this, Garak nestled into his touch, reaching to wrap one arm around his shoulder, burying his head in the quilting of Bashir’s uniform.

“For me to exploit,” Garak said bitterly, trying to amuse himself but missing the mark.

“Well… yes, if you’d like to.  Are you going to listen to me, this time?”

Garak mumbled incoherently, causing Bashir to dig one fingernail into the gap between two of his neck scales to command his focus.  Then he quirked his brow and watched as Garak’s lips parted; his breaths were still quick and labored, but he collected what he needed and spoke.

“As if my life depends on it,” said Garak.

Bashir touched his aural ridge and brought him in closer for a kiss, rewarding his answer.  

“You old sentimentalist,” Bashir replied.  “I take it you want to see the _rest_ of what I had in mind?”

“Mmhmm,” Garak nodded and made a sound again, but Bashir accepted it.

After nudging Garak’s shoulder, Bashir slid down from the sofa, moved the toy out of the way, and gradually opened Garak’s legs.  

“I was going to get you all cleaned up,” he explained, while Garak made a welcoming gesture with one hand.

Garak felt Bashir’s lips ghosting along his seam, kissing the scales softly, before he burrowed his nose against the top lining, encouraging the folds to part, even though they were slackened already.  It was pure indulgence - a feeling Garak shared when Bashir’s tongue pressed inward, and began to glide up and down.

“Mmm,” Bashir hummed into Garak’s thigh, and sucked it gently as he withdrew, breathing before returning diligently to his work.

“Lilac?” asked Garak, knowing he was wrong.

“Rose,” said Bashir, “I thought you were an accomplished florist.”

“Well, I assumed it was not for _me_ , or it would have been some Cardassian symbol of romance.”

Bashir grinned and knelt in front of Garak, kissing him tenderly and holding his legs apart.  Every so often, his fingers would drift upward, teasingly rubbing Garak’s cock or melodically tapping his seam scales.  Their pace was slow and relaxed; Bashir made no further mention of his limited time at home.

He lapped up the rose-tinted fluid, and a great deal of Garak’s own, before raising himself up again, keeping his hand wrapped loosely around Garak’s cock as he returned to the sofa, nestling close to his side.  

“Taste,” Bashir said, leaning in to kiss Garak on the mouth.

Over the preceding months, Garak had become less wary of the gesture, and did as he was told.  He had known all along that the lubricant was rose-flavored, but was surprised to find his own fluid equally sweet; he never believed Bashir’s claims, along this line.

“And what _would you have done,_  next?” Garak asked.

Bashir sighed in mock exasperation, cupping Garak’s cheek in his hand and bringing him in for another kiss.

“Well, I _would have_ just watched you climax, if you’d listened.”

“But I did not listen.”

They kissed again, slowly.

“I spent all my time planning out the toy,” Bashir explained.  “How did you like it?”

Garak gave a non-commital shrug, then inhaled in preparation.

“Perfectly designed to suit my ridges, acceptably sized, and just a _touch_ cold.”

“What do you mean ‘acceptably?’” Bashir chipped away at his list, “It’s almost the _precise_ maximum dimensions of your cloaca, and ten percent larger than _me_.”

“Ah, but it is _not_ you,” Garak observed.  “It does not kiss me, nor tell me how much it enjoys my company.  Mercies, it does not even _move_.”

“It’s always nice to hear about my best qualities,” Bashir said, rolling his eyes.

“I only say this because I am _hardly_ satisfied with my _professional_ care,” Garak said slyly, waiting and bracing for a swat on the arm.

Bashir did nudge him, more softly than he had expected, and touched one palm to his chest, soothing his _chula_ and checking his pulse.  Then, he collected the toy and made an offer of it, which Garak clicked his tongue at.

“That is _not_ you,” Garak explained.

“Fine, Elim.  But I _really_ don’t have time for this,” Bashir said, because the fact was nonmoving and inevitable.  But he reached for the zipper at his neckline, regardless, and took off his combadge and set it on the side table.

Garak’s expression became one of triumph, and he pressed himself flat into the cushions, displaying both excitement and submission as well as he knew how.  Bashir gave up both on arguing and on postponing whatever this may have been from Garak’s fantasies. At least his preferred type of partner could be assumed to be gentle and considerate and intelligent, anyway, in addition to generous with affection and able to _move_.  

He shrugged out of his uniform and draped it safely out of their way, over the back of a dining chair.  Their plates and tea settings were still there on the table, lukewarm and forgotten.

“But I can’t have you critiquing my care, either,” Bashir went on, while Garak nodded mutely and watched him pace.

Of course, he knew how to physically stimulate himself into arousal relatively quickly, and the recordings Garak had sent did all of the mental and emotional work for him, already.  He encircled his shaft in his hand and pumped several times before kneeling over Garak, supporting himself on his arms and leaning in low enough to kiss the arch of Garak’s shoulder.

“This, what you’re doing now,” Garak asked, “this is purely a professional visit?”

Bashir grimaced.  As far as he knew, there were some deeply-buried medical protocols for species that endured heat and mating seasons, but their solutions were decidedly artificial.  This was just Garak teasing him, being _greedy_ for him, and he did not want to think about it any further.

“Purely,” Bashir replied, slipping his cock smoothly into Garak’s slit.

For good measure, and because Garak had recently over-stretched himself _and_ complained about the results of doing so, Bashir picked up the abandoned toy, and held it carefully at the base of Garak’s seam, teasing the scales.

He spoke as if he were giving a demonstration, but the charade evaporated quickly.

“The stretching should’ve taken you nearly an hour,” Bashir said, “the point was to open _slowly_ , to avoid damaging the tissue…”

Then he pushed the device further forward, pressing it inside alongside himself, holding Garak open wide.  Garak whimpered and bucked his hips, but Bashir remained firmly as he was.

“You see?” he said, providing another kiss as reassurance, “isn’t that much better?”

It was.  Garak’s senses felt suddenly heightened, and whichever ridges were not reached by Bashir’s cock, the toy pressed into sharply, making him whine.  He shut his eyes against the sensation, nodding and doing his best to vocalize an answer.

“I thought, maybe,” Bashir continued, “you’d be able to touch all of your inner ridges one level at a time, as they swelled, and you would not need any penile stimulation in order to orgasm.”

He moved the articulated toy in further, stopping where it threatened to widen.  In their current position, Garak would not be able to take any more of it, and Bashir was careful to hold it in place while he continued thrusting in its stead.  Garak bit his lip and tried to speak.

“I-I will… do that next time,” he said.  “But for now, I was under the impression we… you… were in a rush?”

“Oh, I am,” Bashir replied.  “This is… a routine appointment.”

Without further comments of this nature, Bashir slid the toy out again, and commanded Garak to hold up his legs, keeping them as flat as possible against his chest.  As Garak bent backward, Bashir clutched his thighs and kept them still while he thrusted, increasing both his depth and his speed until Garak’s breathing became frantic.  He whined _‘Julian_ ’ in broken segments between his breaths, and the only other sounds came from his slit as it was filled and pounded, caressed and stretched.  

“I want… the toy again, please,” Garak saved up all of his energy to request this.  

Bashir raised his eyebrow, then paused to wipe the sweat from it, and reached down for the item in question with the same hand.  

“You like to be nice and full, darling?” Bashir asked, amused.  

“I do, my dear.  I do. I want to learn and… and accept it…”

Garak pursed his lips and waited for a kiss, but Bashir denied him, this time, in favor of an explanation.

“And you don’t feel ashamed, now, about asking?”

“No,” Garak said, truthfully, and all the signs confirmed this: his eyes were bright and focused, his words were quiet, his attention did not waver.

“Good,” Bashir affirmed, providing the long-awaited kiss.

Ever so carefully, he slid the toy inside, stopping at its first point of articulation, imagining the way its veins rubbed against Garak’s most sensitive scales.  It touched the underside of Bashir’s cock, as well, needling and throbbing against him, compelling him into climax but simultaneously interrupting the potential flow.  

“Elim, I need you to move _just a little_ …”

Rather than explain, Bashir guided Garak with his hands, gripping his shoulders and holding him up while adjusting his own legs, so he was kneeling.  Garak settled back against the cushions, his legs wrapped around Bashir’s middle, pulling himself in while Bashir continued driving forward, the toy resting in between his legs, stroking the base of Garak’s slit from beneath, poking in only as far as Bashir allowed it to when he let Garak recline.

Garak reached forward with both hands, which Bashir met, intertwining their fingers and letting Garak squeeze as hard as he needed to.  As Bashir continued to hold him, Garak lifted himself forward until he was taking the head of the toy, as well as the full length of his partner.  Bashir watched him with pride, squeezing more gently as if to massage between armored knuckles, before drawing one hand away and thumbing the head of Garak’s penis.

Garak came without any further action, and willed himself still until Bashir had finished, too.  Afterward, his legs returned to trembling from all the weight and movement they had endured, and his breaths grew increasingly ragged before tapering off toward reasonable again.  Bashir rubbed over Garak’s brimming cloaca with one hand, beginning to coax the semen outward so he would not become uncomfortable by the time he retracted. His combadge buzzed on the table, and he went on ignoring it for as long as possible.

“Now, try and get some sleep,” Bashir said kindly, stepping into the kitchen to wash off his hands, “or I’ll be writing you a prescription for sedatives.”

“I’d like that,” Garak replied, all of his inhibitions worn down after intimacy.  “Can you, some time? You know my sleep schedule is _dreadful_.”

Instead of using the dryer, Bashir dug for a rag inside the kitchen drawers, and wiped his hands on it.  He turned over his shoulder and gave Garak a comical look.

“We’ll have to--” he began, but the computer terminal interrupted, on behalf of his abandoned badge.

“Incoming message for Doctor Bashir,” the voice said.

“Alright, hang on,” Bashir sighed, returning to the main room and dropping the rag onto the couch beside Garak.

He leaned down and planted a kiss on his _chufa_.

“Elim, if I leave you instructions on getting yourself cleaned up, do you promise to follow them?” Bashir asked, ready to surrender one of his greatest joys for Garak to prove himself and his commitment; maybe it was not such a loss, after all.

“To the letter,” said Garak.

“Very good,” Bashir said, nuzzling his _chufa_ before stepping away to dress himself. “You stay _right here_ , and I’ll send them from my terminal, _typed_.  You may send images back to my padd, if you feel the need to do so.”

Garak watched him as he collected his clothing and hastily neatened himself, potentially making his efforts worse.  His acceptably unkempt hair was now more dramatically ruffled, and the sweat on his brow had been slicked back to his temples, where it showed more clearly in the station lighting.  But Garak grinned at him, and did not love him any less, even though he clicked his tongue to summon him forward. Then, Garak straightened his hair and uniform for him, all over again.

“Thank you,” Bashir said, before addressing the computer.  “Alert the Infirmary I’m on my way.”

Garak had not stopped grinning, when Bashir knelt in front of him and pressed the rag between both of his hands, sealing it into place.

“Take good care of yourself for me,” Bashir said quietly.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“A date,” Garak agreed, even though they lived together.

“And then please try to sleep, and--”

“You have a patient who needs you much more than I do,” Garak said, perfectly content.  


	2. Play

When Bashir finished his rotation of night shifts - and ended up attending to five additional emergencies in his off-hours - he was granted three straight days for his own recuperation and adjustment.  Of course, he had not had a consistent sleep schedule since graduating from the Academy, but he found the night shifts taking a toll on him, causing him to toss and turn when he went to bed beside Garak, and then to fall asleep when Garak decided to get up and order them breakfast.  Bashir felt awful about it, how Garak’s sudden absence would lead to him finally finding sleep.

Then he would stir in the late afternoon to find Garak either gone and working, or just returning home.  Garak usually left him messages on the computer, which he would sift through eagerly while he waited on the replicator to put together his dinner.  It was not because the replication process took a great deal of time, but because Bashir made half-mumbled requests, and changed his mind partway through his orders.

“No, cancel that… a, um…” he was saying, as he skimmed Garak’s latest message, “just a raktajino, please.”

Fortunately, the computer could not become impatient with him, even after his dozen-or-so entreaties.

“Specify size,” the computer prompted.

“ _Large_ ,” he said.  “And do you do fruit tarts?  Of course you do… could I have one with peaches?  Small.”

Greatly impressed and thankful, he collected his tray from the shelf and went to sit on the sofa, so he could face the door.  Garak’s messages did not indicate a clear time he would be returning from work - what else was new, really, Bashir thought - and Bashir wanted to greet him right away, in case anything was wrong.  His words were usually cryptic, too, and Bashir liked to disprove them as soon as possible; Garak was hinting at something, and it could take Bashir’s lagging brain a long while to put the pieces together.

“Could you read me that last one again, please?  Computer, the last message from Elim Garak, please.”

He turned his fork sideways and cut into his peach tart, before trying without much success to scoop up the thin custard with it; he ordered himself a spoon, too, making a note to request this item chilled on the odd chance he ever craved it again.

“I might make a stop by the Infirmary for you,” the computer read Garak’s typed message.  “If you’ve no objections, I have been looking into something _very_ important.”

He listened to it several times more, but none of the words became any clearer.  After shaking off an ill-timed reminder of his childhood, he stood up and went into the bedroom, getting himself acceptably dressed and resolving to go see exactly what Garak was up to.

***

When Bashir arrived at the Infirmary, Garak was already inside, alternating between debating and charming the doctor who was on duty.  Bashir frowned at her apologetically as he approached, his hand crawling to Garak’s shoulder and patting twice to indicate exactly _what_ he was apologizing for.

Garak hardly turned his head in acknowledgement.

“As I was saying,” Garak said, in time with the momentary tip of his head, “Doctor Bashir has been having trouble sleeping, and, as an _intimate_ acquaintance of his, I wanted to ensure he received the help he needed.”

Bashir ruffled his hair, embarrassed but not unhappy to hear their situation defined in public; Garak was so conservative with his personal information, it felt like a greater blessing each time Bashir heard it.  He and the other doctor exchanged polite greetings of given names, then he promptly excused himself and took Garak outside.

“Granted, I don’t know how your pharmacies work on Cardassia,” Bashir said, “but _her_ , in _mine_ , you can’t just… walk in and get _someone else_ a prescription for _anything_.”

“Hmm,” said Garak, indecisively.  “I can see how it might appear that way.  But I was hoping to obtain something for myself.”

“Well, you’re not going about that correctly _at all_.   _What’s wrong_?”

Garak tutted his tongue and sighed, and glanced over his shoulder, at the entrance to the Infirmary.

“I seem to remember being promised an encounter with a sedative, myself,” Garak explained, in a hushed voice.

“You want _me_ to take a sedative?”

“...no.”

“ _Elim_.”

“I have been thinking about the possibility since you suggested it, and I feel… I feel I would be much more receptive to your _affection_ if I were sedated.”

Bashir did not know what to say to this, much less what expression to make.  His face fell somewhat slack, but his eyes kept their usual glimmer as he took the image Garak offered, of them together, sleepy and uninhibited, tenderly intertwined until morning.  No, he thought, trying to rein himself in, he could not romanticize his work _too_ much.  That would be dangerous, and so would the encounter, if Garak did not trust him so profoundly.  He was caught hopelessly in this cycle for nearly a minute, while he gathered his thoughts.

“We can try, Elim, if you want to.  But you… shouldn’t have come here trying to get medication for _me_ ; that wouldn’t _work_ if you were to take it, anyway.  Do you see?”

“Perfectly,” said Garak.  “I wanted to ensure my arguments would find themselves supported.”

“I don’t understand you at _all_.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say _that_ ,” Garak said, mimicking Bashir’s tone.

Bashir thought about this carefully, this mess Garak had apparently created on purpose.  Now, there was no need for Bashir to threaten his sense of professionalism by granting Garak illicit usage of controlled substances, nor any overlap between his spheres of life, which Garak knew he could find uncomfortable.  If Bashir would just make the correct move, which Garak very much hoped he would, they could go home and have a relaxing intimate experience, one Garak had admittedly spent the past weeks of lonely nights dreaming about. He had also done some reading, during that time, of the computer’s basic medical database, and of the non-controlled substances Bashir kept at home and in his personal kit.  

Unaware of every individual detail, Bashir continued planning his decision, thinking and half-speaking as he had done to the replicator at home.  Garak nodded along with him, feeling particularly pleased when Bashir reached for his hand and brought it to his chest, inspired.

“So now I have to go in and apologize for _your_ behavior,” Bashir said lightly.

“Like the _splendid_ dominant partner you are,” Garak replied.

He had only _barely_ vocalized this, but it still made Bashir shiver, looking over both of his shoulders to see if anyone was watching them.  His heartbeat quickened, and he squeezed Garak’s hand before releasing it.

Then, he returned to the Infirmary on his own, dismissed Garak’s requests as well-intentioned but overbearing and done without his consent, and assured the doctor he would be perfectly fine to return to work after resting that night.

“I’ve some tablets at home,” he explained, and the doctor regarded him with pity instead of hesitance.

***

“These aren’t going to be strong enough for you,”Bashir said, as he fumbled through his kit for the tablets in question.  “They’re non-prescription, but the dosage is designed for my weight, and _my_ species.”

Garak watched and made no attempt to keep the customary disarming smile off of his face.

“Oh, but don’t worry,” Bashir said, turning to meet Garak’s eyes, “I’m not putting you in any danger.”

“I didn’t think so, not for a _moment_.”

Bashir returned Garak’s soft grin, then looked down at the bottle of tablets again.

“They’ll certainly make you drowsy, a little more than half-asleep, by my _professional_ estimate.”

With the pills retrieved, along with a refreshed mug of raktajino and some water from the kitchen replicator, Bashir and Garak proceeded into the bedroom.  Garak took his time undressing himself, under Bashir’s supervision, chatting aimlessly about his expectations.

He reached out to take a tablet from Bashir’s hand, and was met with a hesitant expression instead.  Bashir closed his fingers around the two tablets he had taken out for the exercise, and glared at Garak.

“No.  You need to be more clear about what you want.  I’m not going to do anything we don’t _clearly_ agree to beforehand.”

Garak shuffled backward and dropped his hand to his side, sighing defeatedly.

“I was under the impression that you _knew_ I trusted you.”

“I do,” Bashir said slowly, “but this is... tricky, if you’re going to be unconscious.  I’m not sure if I--”

“I am not going to be _entirely_ unconscious,” Garak said.  He did not want to outline the terms clearly, because he _wanted_ to be surprised and at Bashir’s mercy.  “And I have complete faith in your ability to discern if I am uncomfortable.”

Bashir swallowed hard and nodded in acceptance.

“That’s true,” he said.

“I consent to being used for your pleasure for as long as the effects of the sedative may last,” Garak answered; this was as clear as he could force himself to be.

“That’s, _hh--_ ” Bashir gave out a hot breath, overwhelmed by the imagery.  “Alright. I can work with that. Here.”

He provided Garak with one tablet at a time, between sips of water, and then he went to fetch his tricorder.  As unobtrusively as possible, he set this up beside Garak on the bed, so he could observe his vitals as needed.

Garak smiled and settled back against the headboard, letting Bashir fuss over the pillows for him, making him as comfortable as possible.  The medication slackened his joints and placated him, leaving him grinning vacantly upward. While he shut his eyes and hummed contentedly, Bashir stepped aside to undress himself, keeping a careful eye on Garak between each layer he removed.

Garak’s eyes remained shut for some time, and his breaths all came out audibly.  Bashir kissed his shoulder and turned him onto his side, and nestled up against him, letting the complete contact of their skin lull Garak slightly closer to sleep.  He peered over Garak’s arm as it fell into an exhale, checking his heart-rate. Almost perfect…

Wrapping his hand around Garak’s middle, he let his fingers trace idly over his _chuva_ before dipping between his folds, sliding up and down until Garak began to emit fluid.  Bashir did not slip inside yet, and continued teasing him as he kissed his shoulder repeatedly.

“You know,” Bashir admitted, leaning close to Garak’s ear, “I hope, _someday_ , you and I can be this relaxed without you being sedated.  This might be… one of the most romantic things I’ve ever tried to do…”

“Mmm,” sighed Garak.

“Maybe not,” Bashir decided, “but that’s how I’m going to think about it, anyway.  Do you know how _lovely_ you are, when you’re not _worrying_ about anything?  About _everything_?”

Garak made an even softer sound, and Bashir brought himself in closer, creating friction with his hips while continuing to trace over Garak’s slit slowly.  After awhile, he moved his other hand to Garak’s hair, where he copied the motion.

“You like that, hmm?”

“Mmhmm,” Garak echoed him, and Bashir smiled into his back.

“Good.  We’ll keep at it, then.  Nice and slow...”

When his fingers were thoroughly slicked in Garak’s fluid, he spread apart Garak’s folds with his index and ring finger, leaving his middle to dip inside.  He pressed against scaling with his nail before beginning to vary his strokes, rubbing the cool inner lining until the ridges swelled around him. In their year together, he had learned that before Garak could become truly slack, he would become _tight_.  All the tension was taken into his ridges as they swelled and then released.  

“There we go…”

With a nudge, Bashir helped Garak to fold up his leg, granting Bashir access from beneath, rather than needing to wrap around his waist.  Immediately, the angle of penetration was deepened, and Garak whimpered in his sleep. Bashir smiled as if he had just been told a secret, and added a second finger to see how the sound might change.

“Ohh,” Garak groaned.

“I’m right here with you, Elim, darling,” Bashir assured, kissing his shoulder again.  “Going to wake you up just a _bit_ , alright?”

Taking a quick check of the tricorder, Bashir removed his fingers and cupped Garak’s slit, instead, pressing firmly over all of the sensitive seam-scales at once, forcing him to stir.  Blinking wearily, Garak glanced over his shoulder, where Bashir was waiting to meet his gaze.

“Perfect,” he said.  “Very good, Elim; just like that.  I want you to _know_ when I’m making love to you.”

“I know that,” Garak mumbled, lips still mostly sealed, groggy and thick with sleep.

Bashir’s own arousal was not yet an urgent matter; he rolled his hips leisurely into Garak’s waist, more focused on pleasuring Garak than himself, for the time being.  The quality of Garak’s whines changed gradually, until they were breathy and loud, louder than Garak preferred to be when he was fully awake. Bashir giggled against his aural ridge, nipped it gently, and began thrusting his fingers inside once more.  To his surprise, Garak became silent again, having whined for attention rather than as a result of stimulation.

“I think this is one of your best ideas yet,” Bashir observed, increasing his pace until Garak was breathless.  “I mean, _truly_ giving me the chance to take good care of you, and give you that affection you’ve been too scared to ask for.  Do you like it?”

“Ah-ahh,” Garak shivered, but his head nodded, and Bashir took that as sufficient.

“I like it, too.  More than I was expecting to, if I’m honest."

He felt lazy, _serene_ , laying there on his side against Garak, reaching up between bent legs and drawing out quiet mumbles.  In that moment, he marked this position in his mind to return to later, after he had taken a sedative for himself.  This encounter was supposed to get him adjusted for his usual working hours, after all.

But for now, he took his hand away and brought it to rest on Garak’s shoulder.  He paused and rubbed the fluid on himself rather than Garak, because he felt more comfortable with the mess than Garak did.

Garak mourned his sudden disappearance, and turned himself over, burrowing into the pillows and grabbing one to hold against his chest, maintaining the heat he had soaked up from Bashir.

“I’m here, darling,” Bashir promised, smiling as he returned to the bed, even though he knew Garak could not see him.  

Occasionally, his eyelids would peel themselves apart, but his eyelashes were matted with sleep, and he always promptly shut them again.  This time, he squeezed the pillow tightly and rubbed his eye against the corner of it, trying to scrape it clean. Even though the odds of Garak hurting himself this way were low, Bashir intervened before any chance arose.  He tugged away the corner of the pillow, promptly replacing it with his body, running one hand soothingly over Garak’s side.

“ _Here_ ,” Bashir said again.

Garak made an affirmative noise, restricted to his throat, and Bashir leaned in to touch his chin.  Stroking the bracket ridge gently, he encouraged Garak to flatten his head to the pillow, baring his throat.  Bashir kissed it, and reached for his shoulder, turning him to lie on his back. Garak did not resist any of this, and continued mumbling.

Bashir remained cautious of their positions, unsure if Garak would react to restriction in his sleep the same way he did when he was awake.  So, he planned to begin in a way they were familiar with, where Bashir straddled Garak’s prone form, and could penetrate him easily.

He was not yet fully erect, but it did not bother him.  This was meant to be relaxed and unhurried, and he wanted Garak to wake from the experience feeling satisfied and _loved_ , above all else.  Proceeding equally in trust and curiosity, Bashir slid inside, letting the ridges tickle him.  It was _wonderful_ , and began to roll his hips, slowly, in search of more.

“Nnnhh, mm--” Garak’s eyes half-opened and then shut again as he groaned, “Are you… mm… inside me?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Mmmm,” Garak sighed again, and pressed the top of his head into the pillow, bringing his chin upward again.  

Amused, Bashir reached forward to reward this reaction, cupping Garak’s chin in one hand and rubbing firmly, feeling the ridge raise up to meet his touch.  When he was not worried about controlling his appearance, Garak was a delightfully expressive lover. Bashir found their current activity more and more appealing.

“Elim,” he led, pinching Garak’s chin and drawing it low again, so their eyes could meet if Garak’s had been open, “there, perfect.  I want to look at you.”

Garak made a noble attempt at vocalizing this same sentiment, but the words came out unintelligible, which Bashir liked even more.  Each time he brought his hips forward, Garak tried beginning the line again, until Bashir removed his hand and kissed Garak’s lip to quiet him.

“Gentle,” Bashir told himself, “just enough for you to feel me… _there_ , that’s nice, isn’t it?”

By now, he had stiffened, and when he bared down with his weight, he found the head of his cock stroking the base of Garak’s purse, where the ridges converged and splayed over his sheath.  This had not begun to swell, yet, but enough movement from Bashir would change that.

“Do you want to evert for me, darling?”

“Haven’t I?” Garak asked quietly, surging forward to feel around for proof.  He wrapped his hand around the base of Bashir’s cock, instead of his own, and remained unconvinced.

Bashir gave him a friendly little chuckle, and caught his hand.

“No, you haven’t, Elim.  Do you _want_ to?”

Garak did not say anything, and Bashir paused for a moment, deciding on the best way to proceed.  The medication’s effects hit Garak in separate waves, as the dosage meant for someone Bashir’s size filtered through his increased weight, rearranged organs, and no small amount of trained mental resistance.  As a result of this, Garak wove in and out of being able to vocalize anything, let alone anything intelligent, but Bashir knew he was still _somewhat_ aware of his surroundings; he had just confused a few details.  And how else could a Cardassian truly _relax_?

Bashir chose to continue thrusting gently, and doing what he could to sway Garak’s perceptions.  All was well according to the tricorder; there was no danger.

“It’s just the two of us, Elim,” Bashir narrated, wondering if he should be truthful or invent a fantasy for Garak to dream about.  “That’s right, just you and I, here in our _home_ , the whole night to ourselves.”

“Nnhh.”

Within, his cock twitched, scraping against Garak’s base, and startling him.

“What are you--?” Garak began to say, voice raspy.

“Shh, I’ve got you.  Do you want me to stop?”

“Stop _what_?”

“Filling your purse,” Bashir said, modestly.

Garak huffed through his nostrils.

“Fill it,” Garak mumbled.

Bashir grinned and leaned down to hold Garak’s shoulders, creating a sharper angle of penetration, rubbing alongside Garak’s sheath until he was compelled to evert.  His cock struggled upward, gliding along his belly, coming to rest near his _chuva_ , sticky and stiff.

“Wonderful, Elim,” Bashir said, enjoying the sight.  “I’d suck you off, if I wasn’t busy.”

Garak was not ordinarily a fan of vulgarity, but Bashir enjoyed it.  He liked to whisper and see how he could unsettle Garak’s composure, especially in public, veiling it as retribution for Garak’s years of innuendo.  But now, Garak was somehow aware of the words, or at least the tone Bashir used and the physical context, so he swallowed hard.

“Or I might _anyway_ ,” Bashir said, continuing to thrust, letting Garak experience indecisiveness.  “We have plenty of time.”

Experimentally, Bashir tightened his hold on Garak’s shoulders, hooking his hands underneath and drawing Garak close, close enough to whisper into his ear.

“After you can’t take any more,” Bashir said.  “But I’m going to be _gentle_ all the time, more than that thick skin of yours will know what to do with…”

Garak shivered at the promise of scandal, but made no protest of the increasingly close contact.  This combination made Bashir feel not just _proud_ , but _successful_ ; this encounter was washing away the last of Garak’s insecurities, every variety at once.

“Ah-ah-ahh,” Garak keened, and Bashir embraced him tightly.

“You’re doing _so_ well, Elim.  I want you to remember that for me, okay?”

He felt as if he were imposing a post-hypnotic suggestion, but maybe the feeling was not far off.  Garak’s chin fell to rest against Bashir’s shoulder, as he nodded.

“Very good.”

Bashir continued holding him close and thrusting up into him gently, feeling his cock bobbing and leaking between their bodies.  When Bashir felt himself approaching climax, he stroked Garak’s cock in search of similar confirmation. It was still relatively soft and cool, but the ridges had begun to flare in a cry for attention.  Bashir watched the swelling fondly, restricting Garak’s base in one hand as he clasped his lips around one of Garak’s neck scales, and came. His voice was muffled into Garak’s skin, allowing Garak to _feel_ the vibrations clearly in his semi-conscious state.  He grinned and slumped his head further forward, draping his neck over Bashir’s shoulder so his chin touched the blade, mouth open and wet.  Bashir did not mind at all.

“Mmm,” Bashir sighed as he pulled out and extricated himself from Garak, who promptly whined at this, “I want to get a few things for us, darling.  Stay here; I’ll be right back.”

He lowered Garak to the mattress and stood, planning to rush out to the bathroom, first, and then the replicator on his way in again.  Before he left, and because Garak was still making plaintive sounds, Bashir rifled through the chest Garak kept of his devices. Their newest acquisition had been added recently, and Bashir carefully removed it and slicked it with their rose lubricant.  Then, he stuffed it, to the second articulation, into Garak’s slit, quieting him.

“ _Right back_ ,” Bashir repeated, checking over his shoulder as he departed, to ensure Garak was sated.  Then he mumbled to himself, “I do have _some_ refractory period, you know.”

From both stops, Bashir collected the entire bottle of tablets, and then a restrictive ring.  This would fit over the base of Garak’s penis, granting Bashir use of both hands while still withholding Garak’s orgasms.  

When Bashir returned, Garak was still laying on his back, shoulders held up at uneven heights by the rumpled pillows.  Bashir leaned over him and adjusted these, keeping one hand on him at all times, before slipping downward and pulling out the toy and carefully rolling the ring into place.

“I think you’ll like this, Elim,” Bashir remarked, reaching up again to dab stray saliva from the corner of Garak’s mouth as he nodded fervently.  His level of awareness was high enough, and his level of inhibition low enough, for Bashir to feel suave, courteous, and at ease.

With the preparations finished, he rolled Garak over to rest on his stomach, with his groin pressed tight against one of the pillows.  Then, he straddled Garak’s thighs, taking his time massaging both buttocks before spreading them and guiding himself into the cloaca from beneath.  From here, he caressed the base of the sheath directly, in a way both of them enjoyed, however infrequently Garak could be talked into the position.  Generally, he preferred to _see_ the source of his stifling, to console himself with watching changes in expression and physicality when the feeling threatened to overwhelm him.  But his eyes were stuck shut, now, and he was content to grind his cock into the pillow, groaning each time Bashir forced his movement.

“Isn’t that _nice_?” Bashir asked.

Garak made a muffled noise of affirmation, well-trained to respond vocally to Bashir’s questions whenever he was able.  

“I think so, too,” Bashir continued, steadying himself and beginning to bear his weight forward.

He was aware of his own semen all around, not-entirely-uncomfortably, and posed the question to Garak.

“Do you feel full, yet?”

“Nnnhh…. _ahh_ \--” Garak’s groan was cut off when Bashir jostled him forward.

“I didn’t think so.  Just thought I’d double check.”

When he bent forward, he could align his hands neatly with the wide ridges that ran diagonally over Garak’s hips.  He clutched them tightly and kneaded them, feeling a few of the randomly-patterned belly scales tensing and swelling beneath his touch.  Continuing inward, wrapping his arms around just above the _chuva_ , he pulled Garak up from the mattress.  With one hand freed, Bashir rubbed the base of Garak’s cock, testing the tightness of the ring as he became erect, before continuing onward to the uppermost urethra.  Now, it barely came in contact with the cushion, and Garak whined again at the loss of contact. The quality of his cries changed greatly when Bashir took him tightly in hand and began to pump him up and down slowly, _far_ more slowly than he wanted.

Garak’s hips were angled upward as Bashir continued this, lowering his chest to rest against Garak’s back and thrusting deeply.  He had tried to pace himself, but in truth, he was getting _tired_ , and he wanted to end the exercise with Garak feeling satisfied.  With a parting squeeze at the head of Garak’s cock, Bashir moved his hand to himself, rubbing and teasing until he could not resist climaxing a second time.

He bit _softly_ at Garak’s shoulder as he fell, feeling unusually wobby.  The bite morphed easily into a kiss, and then another and another, tracing over the ornate ridge that reinforced Garak’s spine.  When he pulled back, he was sitting upright, and dislodged himself carefully, choosing to sit beside Garak instead, holding onto his own cock and rubbing it absently.

“How are you feeling now, Elim?” Bashir asked, a bit breathless.

“...full,” Garak mumbled, unsure if this was the correct answer or not.

“Hmm,” Bashir chuckled and reached over to the nightstand, “are you, really?”

“Mmm,” Garak said.

Bashir opened the pill bottle and stared down into it hesitantly, wondering if it was fair or responsible for him to surrender his control.  The effects would be wearing off of Garak soon enough; the best Garak could hope for was an hour or so of genuine sleep, once both of his doses dissolved fully into his system.  Of course, they could have taken much stronger hypospray compounds; slow-release tablets were largely redundant, and Bashir only kept them on hand because he never liked to be _too_ groggy, should he be called to work in an emergency situation.  

That settled it.  He would not be _too_ beyond his limit.

He took the glass of water Garak had used earlier, and took a pill for himself.  It worked slowly, making him feel giddy and drowsy, with one always outweighing the other until he found himself dreaming happily.  He touched Garak’s cheek with the back of his hand, smiling even though he could not be seen.

“I want to hold you, Elim.  Do you _want_ me to hold you?”

The tablets gave him more of a tendency to ramble and repeat himself, too, but Garak, in his current state, did not notice.

“Yes,” said Garak.

Bashir settled down on his side, turning Garak and pulling him in so their skin met, Garak’s back against his chest, ridges prickling to meet fuzzy stubble, scales softening in time to Bashir’s heartbeat.

“Mmm,” Bashir sighed, as he often did, into Garak’s shoulder.  “I like this. I like to hold you close - and I know I _can’t_ , most of the time, maybe that’s what makes it feel so good, now - but I like to hold you close and _protect_ you.”

“Y-yes,” Garak stammered, feeling slightly unsteady, until Bashir tightened his grip even further.  It felt strange and surreal, as if Garak was not _really_ experiencing it; he enjoyed it from this imagined third-party perspective.  “When you phrase it _that_ way…”

Bashir made a sleepy but enthusiastic sound, and began to rub Garak’s _chuva_ with one hand, enjoying the heat of it.  Inevitably, this led him down to the seam, where he could feel his own semen dribbling and coating Garak’s thighs thickly.  He smirked at this, feeling almost triumphant in some odd, primal way; he pressed it into place, and stuffed two fingers immediately into Garak’s slit to keep any more from spilling over.

“Mmm, _oh_ , yes,” Garak said, as he began to lose the effect of the sedative.  “ _Mercies_.”

Bashir was moving his fingers at an uneven pace, pressing sharply into Garak’s sheath, giggling as he kissed Garak’s shoulder again and again.  It was at this point Garak became aware of the pressure around his penis, although he did not look down to confirm this suspicion; he was still content to let Bashir play with him.

“Hmm, you want me to fuck you again?” Bashir asked, amused with himself.  “I want to. I _will_.”

“...yes,” Garak decided, after a slight delay.

Bashir kept his fingers in place, widening Garak’s slit enough for his cock.  He entered crookedly, ramming into Garak’s base, and pulled out to try again, grinning into Garak’s back the entire time.

“Bend your leg up,” Bashir mumbled, “so I _can_.”

“Can…”

“Can fuck you,” Bashir said.  “ _Obviously_.”

He rutted his hips in small, quick motions, until both of them panted for breath.  During this, Garak reached down to touch himself, finding a ring in the _precise_ place he wanted to encircle his shaft.

“Julian, dear…?” he began the question, but did not know how to finish it.

“Elim, darling,” Bashir said, utterly satisfied.

“There’s, er… _something_ …”

Bashir paused all of his movements to focus on blinking and pulling the memory together.  

“Oh, that’s right,” he said apologetically.  “Let me take care of that for you…”

Fully aware of how ridiculous he was being, but observing it in the same impersonal way Garak had experienced with himself, Bashir broke away and rolled Garak onto his back once more.  Eagerly, he dove down and covered Garak’s cock with his mouth, tickling the first urethra with the tip of his tongue, then the second, then the third…

He groaned, then, low and rumbling in his throat, vibrating all around Garak’s length.  Garak - and indeed Cardassians in general - were not intimidatingly endowed, so Bashir did not struggle at all to press his nose into Garak’s seam.  If he pulled his lips back just right, he could scrape along the ring with his teeth. He clasped onto it and began to slide back again, turning and bobbing his head until the ring was loose, and slid off along with him.

Garak yelped when Bashir released him, and his cock tensed and twitched at the sudden change in temperature.  Bashir had to remind himself, half-verbally, not to ‘just sit here staring.’

As Garak came, Bashir found the presence of mind to offer his mouth again, and he held Garak steady through the shivers that racked his body.  After he finished, Garak’s eyes unstuck themselves, and he blinked down at Bashir, who was closing his own as he swallowed.

“ _God_ , Elim,” he moaned.

“You look… ready for bed yourself, dear,” Garak remarked, putting the words together gradually.  “Impeccably timed, as always.”

Bashir chuckled to himself, and his eyes went soft.  Still happily clinging to Garak’s hips, he pulled himself upward, crawling to rest over his body, kissing his lips before resting beside him once more.

Garak made an indecisive sound as he glossed his tongue along his lip, tasting his partner’s seed.  Even with his own sedative wearing off, he had no objections to trying to sleep again, now that they were together.  Bashir remained self-indulgently cuddly, and kept his arms wrapped around Garak as he began to doze.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” Bashir led.

“Oh, _very_ much,” Garak replied.  “Did you?”

“Mmhmm, yeah.  Did you… what was it… did you get to relax?”

“Most definitely.”

“A-and feel full?” Bashir added, as an afterthought, being pleasantly haunted by memories of Garak whining every time they were not in contact.

Garak recalled these instances, too, but did not reflect on them in shame.

“For the most part,” Garak said.

“You don’t mind if I hold onto you?”

In reply, Garak pushed himself in tighter at Bashir’s waistline, grinding their hips together.

“I do not seem to,” Garak observed, unworried.

“Well, it can be hard to tell with you,” Bashir teased.

Garak feigned offense and gave a momentary struggle, turning himself over to face Bashir.  When they were not physically engaged with one another, it became more common for Garak _not_ to want to face Bashir; he preferred to see an open space while being held.  But tonight, to demonstrate his commitment and the depth of his relaxation and trust, he was willing to face Bashir, and watch over him as he drifted off to sleep.

The scene was quiet and peaceful, as Bashir mentally revised his claim; Garak was not hard for him to read at all, not anymore.  He reached over Garak’s shoulder to deactivate the tricorder, so they could sleep without interruption.

“Is it true, what you said?” Garak asked, “that I did _well?_ ”

“Of course it is, Elim.  I’d never lie to you.”

“I would like to try that again sometime, then,” Garak smiled.  “Perhaps without any sedative at all, although I _do_ find them uniquely comforting.  In fact, I cannot think of a single thing which might enhance our encounters any more than _that_.”

“Oh, aphrodisiacs,” Bashir responded, as if someone was asking him for a recommendation at work, “I’m sure some Cardassian equivalent could be put together to, er… warm the scales, maybe, or tighten the cloaca?  Or I could take--”

“No, not like that at all.  Physical enhancement is not important to me.  The Cardassian equivalent would most _certainly_ be affecting mentality, as you and I have just done, and as I would like to do in the near future.”

Garak nudged their hips together again, bending one of his legs and leaving his slit on tempting display.  Bashir, his eyes half-shut, glanced down where Garak had touched him, and gave a little laugh.

“I don’t work ‘til _late_ tomorrow morning,” Bashir said, “so I wouldn’t mind a bit of a - hmm - _lie in_ …”

This time, Garak initiated a kiss, distracting Bashir enough to hook one leg over his waist, pressing his slit flat against Bashir’s cock.  Bashir laughed again, breath tickling Garak’s neck as he pulled his face back again.

“I hoped you’d agree,” Bashir said, reaching down and tucking himself into place.  “Mmm, just like coming home.”

“Now, be very _clear_ about what you want, my dear,” Garak recited, teasing, but also ready to listen obediently to his orders, however fanciful they may have been, as Bashir fought off the medication long enough to speak.

“I just want to… wake up this way, Elim.  I want to have you, _all mine_ , all night.  And then I want you to fuck my mouth in the morning before breakfast, and then I want to take a shower and--”

Garak smiled at him and took over the task of gently rutting, soothing Bashir to sleep with the repetitive motion.

“One thing at a time, dear.”


End file.
